How To Make a Pool Party

​1. Get a pool.

2. Fill it with water.​3. Wait 5 minutes.

Once the word gets out, your work is done!

It only took 30 minutes for every single member of our farm family to stop by the new pool. We get a new one every year once the weather warms up. They pretty much trash it right away. It'll never look this clean again. #almostsummer​

Thanks for helping us to celebrate the unofficial start of summer! Nothing says summer like a swimming pool and frolicking kids! We hope you enjoy your Memorial Day weekend and be sure to thank a Veteran for us! (Thank you for your service Dad!).

In the world of cancer we try to break the facts up into good news and bad news. Good news is used to describe disease that has not progressed, changed, advanced or evolved. Good news likes to report data that can measure how cancer is being defeated, delayed or denied. Good news tells us things like 10% are still alive after 3 years. Good news tries to give us hope. But good news has a dirty little secret. Good news is only half the story.​ Bad news is burdened with the other facts. Bad news talks about the 90% that failed to make 3 years. Bad news says the pain will only get worse. Bad news wants you to understand the truth. Bad news says get ready. Bad news reveals that even though we don't know how long we have, we know where we are going. Once you get past denial and grasp the reality of a terminal diagnosis, you realize there is no good news. All of the news comes from the same bucket. Not good, not bad. Just news.

Bella returned to U of I this week for her radiation treatment. Although she hopped willingly into the Jeep for the 1-1/2 hour ride, she hesitated at the door of the building. She remembered this as the place where I left without her. She gave me this stare in the waiting room. She speaks a thousand words to me with those eyes. I feel small and helpless. I can't return her gaze.​ The staff here has been amazing. I have never been treated with such attentiveness in a medical setting. Doctors, residents and students, all have answered every question with thoroughness and patience. They have listened to every story I've told, kindly nodding and smiling and acting as if this dog, our family, was their only concern. They are careful, consistent and compassionate. I wonder who they are. Outside of this building, in their own lives, how do they process their days? What brings them down this path? Perhaps I will ask next time.​ It is a difficult job. This place is often the last resort for treatment and hope. From the waiting room I see the pets come in. Some walking, some carried. They are old and young. Patches of missing hair, surgery scars, ragged breathing and wide eyed, many are in final days. ​ The emergency patients are rushed in with their grief stricken humans and I step aside to allow them the space to process their panic. The staff is efficient and quickly moves them to a private room to await whatever news they will receive. I understand their fear. I respect it. I know we will be there too, in the future, weighing impossible options and making impossible decisions. I try to imagine getting ready to go to work here every morning.​ I leave Bella with a heavy heart. This is becoming a new normal. She will again stay overnight for treatment.

Later, I receive a phone call from Doctor Connell (Resident, Oncology), the news this week is that after prepping Bella for her radiation treatment, the machine broke down. The radiation machine. Like a cranky old copier, it just quit. In the fog of my brain, I attempt to process this information. I blink uncomprehending. I feel something, surging, welling up in the core of my body, a loud silent NO! We have waited 3 weeks for this day, this treatment. We weighed and declined other treatment options in favor of this option. This was supposed to be the treatment that finally said, "Take THAT cancer!" How is this possible? ​ I take a deep breath and push the panic back into the dark reaches of my subconscious self where such things are kept, to be dealt with at another time. The man who fixes old radiation machines lives in Canada, I'm told. He will be here next week. Hopefully he has the right parts and can do the job quickly. We will be rescheduled.​ I manage a small bit of empathy for the bearer of this news. I realize that this puts a major wrench into their clinical trial. I am sure that behind the scenes there were some choice words spoken, some worried phone calls placed. It is a setback, not just for us, but for all the students and educators in this program.​ I arrive to pick up Bella and am greeted by another young person, Doctor Sadler (Senior Veterinary Student, Class of 2018) who is very composed and apologetic. I find that my humanity has returned and I accept that these are things out of our control. We have a quiet conversation where I am brought up to speed on the procedures they performed on Bella and her new medication schedule. I am allowed as much time as necessary to communicate whatever thoughts and questions I can put together. They are so incredibly patient with me. These child doctors, likely the ages of my own children, are so stoic and calm, it feels like a role reversal.​ I am reunited with Bella and it is bittersweet. I am taking her home knowing that with her treatment delayed, her only pain relief will be in the cocktail of pills that I prepare for her each morning and night. Her cancer will be growing, unabated and time is not on our side. Worry is useless here, but still my constant companion. Bella knows nothing of my concerns. She is happy to see me, happy to be going home, happy to be alive.​

Driving this road each week, watching the miles and miles of farmland unfold around me, I am reminded that we are such a small part of the greater whole. We will all become dust again one day. If we are lucky, in our final days, we will be surrounded by the people we love in the places we love, with no regrets except for those left behind. I choose this death for Bella, just as I choose it for myself. With so many things beyond our control, we have resolved that Bella shall not be asked to suffer in her final days in order to give us more time. Once the disease has taken the joy from her days, and she no longer cares if we come or go, and she tells us with those eyes that which cannot be spoken, we will let her go. That is our path now, our focus. Kindness in life, kindness in death. Everything in between is just a gift.

​TPF Note to Readers: Please bear with us as we come to terms with the sudden, very terrible and unexpected diagnosis Bella received after a small limp resulted in the visit to our local vet. She is now being treated at the University of Illinois. Her time is short. This series of reports on her condition is our way of coping while at the same time educating everyone on a very common yet tragic disease that plagues these great giant dog breeds. More research must be done to learn better and more effective treatments and cures for this disease. It is our hope that by participating in a clinical trial, Bella will somehow move the dial of the educational arc further into the understanding zone and closer to a solution. Thank you for your patience and compassion during this difficult time. ~Tom and Suzy

Bella started her treatment for Osteosarcoma this week at U of I. For the first time in her 6 short years of life, she was away from home overnight. Benny knows I took her away, he also knows I did not bring her right back. He sat vigil by my Jeep, waiting. ​ Reading over the Doctor's reports I have learned that this is a bad one. Maybe the worst. Some of the descriptors of this cancer are: "frustrating to treat", "highly locally invasive", "highly metastatic", and grimly, if no treatment is offered above just pain management, the survival rate is "2-4 months". With treatment, she has a 50% chance of surviving one year.​ Just 3 weeks ago, we had no idea anything was even wrong. Sadly, since the diagnosis 2 weeks ago, there has not been one shred of good news or hope to hang onto. None. It's hard to accept what we know about her condition when she appears so healthy. Early disease is deceiving. Good appetite and weight. Blood work looks good. Lungs are clear. The fact that they are constantly checking these things, tells me what I don't want to know. Tomorrow she will be slightly less than today. Day after day, she will decline, until she is no more.

The staff at the University have been in constant contact with me during her stay. When I arrived to pick her up at the hospital they raved about what a wonderful dog she is. She looked relieved to see me, but tired. She has been through a lot in a short amount of time.

After the long ride home, Benny welcomed her back.

And then, she rested.​ As I have poured over the information provided and gleaned from very serious conversations with her medical team, there is just one common thread. Wait for the disease to progress (it will) and manage her pain as best we can. The fact that we "caught" it early is of little comfort, as the disease is unstoppable. ​ Next week she goes back for radiation. This will help short term with bone pain. She will also receive a bone strengthening agent to help guard against fracture, since the bone around the tumor area has been compromised. This, I have learned in my crash course on bone cancer, is what is considered palliative care. It is what we can do to make her more comfortable, but is unfortunately not a cure. There is no cure. ​ For now, we are thankful she is home and resting comfortably. Sweet dreams baby girl.​

TPF Note to Readers: Please bear with us as we come to terms with the sudden, very terrible and unexpected diagnosis Bella received after a small limp resulted in the visit to our local vet. She is now being treated at the University of Illinois. Her time is short. This series of reports on her condition is our way of coping while at the same time educating everyone on a very common yet tragic disease that plagues these great giant dog breeds. More research must be done to learn better and more effective treatments and cures for this disease. It is our hope that by participating in a clinical trial, Bella will somehow move the dial of the educational arc further into the understanding zone and closer to a solution. Thank you for your patience and compassion during this difficult time. ~Tom and Suzy

​Bella and I got up early Tuesday and made the trek down to the University of Illinois to confirm her diagnosis and to determine a course of treatment for her cancer.

Benny is not happy that I keep taking his girl away. They are so bonded. I'm trying not to think about what will happen to him when the cancer takes her away forever.
In the back of my mind I thought maybe they'd find out it wasn't cancer at all. Just some silly scans. And a silly puffy leg. Not cancer. It could have been a bruise or maybe a sprained ankle. Dogs get those too, don't they?

She rode so nice in the Jeep. That was one of the reasons we got that car, so we could drive the dogs places, take some trips. It works great for these big dogs, lots of head room and a roomy place to lay down. Not that we ever take the dogs anywhere, except to the vet and the groomer. And now, the University. But the idea of taking these big beautiful dogs on a road trip really appealed to me. Even though they are working dogs, they make good companion animals as well. Plus they are very people friendly. But now, with a bad leg, I guess we missed our window to take Bella on a trip. Damn cancer!
​ She had a needle aspiration done under sedation and of course the results were positive. Osteosarcoma. Such an ugly word. For the second time in a week I find myself having a conversation with a Doctor about removing the leg of our precious Bella.​ This feels surreal.

I've had a lot of life experiences, but I've never had to decide something like this. Doctor Fan explained the procedures, the surgery, the followup and a clinical trial that Bella fit the profile for. It would save us thousands of dollars. We discussed it at great length. I asked a million questions. I find out that the average life expectancy is about 10 months after the surgery. 10 months! Cut off a leg and you only get 10 months?!
​ I look out the window and a rabbit hops into view.

I watch it for awhile then turn back to the Doctor. "What else can we do?" I ask.
​ He tells me about a different clinical trial that uses radiation on the tumor, while trying to rebuild the bone mass and additionally working to boost the immune system to fight the cancer cells with antibodies. It is a limb sparing protocol that is showing promising results. I look it up online and wonder if it would be aggressive enough. The Doctor says that the outcome will likely be the same, time-wise. Either way, she might have 1-3 years. No one knows for sure. It's all a big guess how well she'll respond to treatment. My head is spinning.
​ I call Farmer Tom and we make a decision. Next week she goes back to start treatment. We chose the radiation therapy. It's a horrible decision to have to make, and I'm sick with the worry of What If We Are Wrong? I'm also consumed with WHY?
​ Why her? What is wrong with letting a perfectly good and healthy dog live out it's natural life without getting some awful disease that robs several years of productive life and breaks our hearts in the process? Why does this happen?
​ I know I sound bitter. I am bitter. I'm disappointed. I'm angry. It's not fair, she did not deserve this. We can't fix it for her and that upsets me more than anything. Even though we have a plan to provide robust pain management, her world has been turned upside down and she will likely suffer before it is over.

So, we have a year. Maybe. She has the most beautiful temperament, the hospital staff will fall in love with her as we have and I know they'll do their best. Participating in a clinical trial may not cure Bella's cancer, but it might help a family down the road to have better treatment options for their precious pet. It's a small grace, but the only one I can offer today.

Thank you for joining me as we begin this terrible and scary journey. As I am able, I will of course provide updates on the rest of the farm, but for now Bella deserves my attention and she will have it. If you haven't already hugged your pet today, now would be a good time. <3

Hi, I'm Sue Pranskus, and this is my sometime blog. It's mostly about my attempts to "green-up" my life. On our little farm we experiment with livestock, gardening, building, repurposing and anything else that we find interesting. Born and bred on the West Coast, I am living in the Midwest by choice, not circumstance. I have built a life based largely on core values and loosely on whimsy. It's that whimsy, though, that gets me in trouble every time!